


nothing more useless than regret

by sentential (fallencrest)



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Episode: s05e02 Authority Vested, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 05, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallencrest/pseuds/sentential
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gemma is there for Tig in the wake of the events of 5x01. Gen/UST hurt/comfort fic. (Written for <a href="http://sentential.livejournal.com/5085.html">the SOA comment ficathon</a> at LJ.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing more useless than regret

When they bring him back to Nero's, all covered in blood and ash and the smell of something worse than either, Tig just sits and stares. Sometimes he shakes a little but he doesn't say anything and he doesn't look up, doesn't even try anything with the escorts. 

And maybe that's the weirdest thing, the fact that Tig isn't trying to drown it all out in pussy, like he's realised that this is one thing a wild bout of excess won't be able to cover over, can't make go away. 

He's just sitting there, looking empty and tired, and Gemma finds that it almost hurts to look at him. She's seen Tig real far gone before, broken up so bad she didn't think it could get any worse but this- this is worse. And she can't maintain her distance, can't just stand there, across the room, and see the slump of his shoulders, all his front gone, like he doesn't care who sees. He's not _acting_ sad or pretending to be happy; he just _is_ , all exposed and out there in all of his empty grief. And Gemma can't watch it, somehow, she just can't, and maybe it's the mother in her or maybe it's having known Tig so damn long and being able to see just how bad this is. And, Christ, it's not like Tig even really saw his daughters much, not like there was a big connection there, and it's not as though Tig hasn't seen and done a whole lot of real bad shit, but this is _family_ and, if there's one thing Gemma knows deep down in her gut, unerring and certain, it's the importance of family.

So she sits down next to him, cradles his head in her lap, tries to give him something back, some safety, some kind of anchor. _We're here, we're still here, Tiggy,_ she thinks but there's nothing she can say that won't make things worse and she knows that. So she just holds him there, tries to reassure him with her presence, her hands. 

Maybe it would be a kindness to talk to him, pull him out of himself, but she'll let him decide when he's ready to speak. She feels like she owes him that, at least. 

They sit there for a good half hour, maybe longer, shifting occasionally, Tig reaching up from time to time to just touch Gemma's hand where it's resting against his collarbone, wordless as ever. And the only thing that breaks them apart is that Jax apparently needs to talk to her and, even then, she goes right back to Tig afterwards, and not only because Jax tells her to - she still can't stand to watch his unmoving, broken emptiness, not relaxed or stoned, part shock and grief, all unspeakable. 

They speak then, a little, because Gemma asks if he's okay without thinking about it and Tig says "yeah, yeah," though he doesn't seem to be listening and he definitely isn't okay. 

"Just keep thinking, Gem," he says, "if I'd stayed with Clay, if I'd stayed." He doesn't saying anything more than that, nothing more than that vague conjectural "if" but it gets her thinking, not that she hadn't realised before, just that she hadn't let herself dwell on things she can't change. Way she sees it, there's no point wondering about what might've been, just got to deal with the shit you're stuck with. Still, if she'd stayed hidden away, not let Tig see her face that night, he might've kept the sergeant’s patch and had Clay's back that night. There isn't any point to thinking about it but the thought pulls at her, hurtful and destructive, all the same. 

"Oh Tiggy," she says, one hand in his hair, the other placed over his hand, "no use thinking that shit. List of shit I'd change if I could is longer than the list of women you've fucked and just as pointless."

Tig says, "yeah, yeah," again but he meets her eye for the first time, finally, just looks, keeps looking, and his eyes are so clear and so blue, misted over a little with a watery sheen, as though blinking might draw a tear but she doesn't see him blink. And, eventually, she has to break the eye-contact, turns her head and presses a kiss to his hairline. She pretends she doesn't see the tear fall, finally, down his cheek, and squeezes his hand. 

When she has to leave to deal with Clay and the home invasion, she regrets it, feels a sort of aching remorse at having to leave him alone. She almost wants to argue and cling to him, but she knows that will make as little difference as thinking about the things they could have done to make it all shake out differently. And he's got things he has to do, too, has to find his other daughter, hold her close, see the thing he's lost become more real that way. (That's a thing she understands, understands it the way that seeing Jax grow up always reminded her that Thomas never would.) 

She knows there's nothing good ahead, not for Tig anyway, no let up any time soon, and Jax has been looking at Tig as though he's responsible for all the ills Jax has ever suffered or ever will, all resentment and anger at the thing Tig's got them into. So, when she has to leave, she hugs Tig warm and all-encompassing and sincere, and tries not to give in to the remorse she feels at letting him go.


End file.
